


The Ghosts in the Night Affair

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Spies and the supernatural [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: A mission in the haunted sites of Gettysburg brings a crisis for Napoleon and Illya–and an unexpected revelation about their past lives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Halloween fic and an expansion of a drabble I wrote some time ago. This fic references the events of a previous oneshot “[The Moonlit Gulch Affair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6522265),” and briefly mentions the events of another oneshot, “[The Mirror, Mirror on the Wall Affair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8180348).”

It was a dark and clear night in Gettysburg as Napoleon and Illya walked across the old battle site. The dewy grass rustled beneath their feet as their breath left them in clouds of condensation while they looked around for signs of recent THRUSH activity. Some history buffs had seen a THRUSHie skulking about, and now the two U.N.C.L.E. agents were searching for him.

“What could THRUSH possibly want with a place like this?” Illya asked. “There are only monuments here.”

“Well, they are important icons,” Napoleon said. “Although running off with monuments isn’t THRUSH’s style; that’s more V.I.L.E.’s thing.”

“And V.I.L.E. is not our concern,” Illya added. “That means that THRUSH must be hiding something here, or have made some sort of outpost here.”

“An outpost here wouldn’t be the wisest idea,” Napoleon mused. “Even if you ignore the tourists who show up here, there are still spirits that could strike back.”

“That old yarn again?” Illya sighed.

“I’ll have you know, Illya, that they say that this is one of the most haunted places in the world. Gettysburg was the site of one of the most brutal battles of the American Civil War, after all.”

“They say that about most major battle sites, Napoleon,” Illya said. “I had a mission in Boston once that took me to the site of Bunker Hill. The locals were telling me about the spirit of a turncoat spy that wandered around to make the lives of passersby miserable.”

“Did you see him?”

“I wouldn’t know; I was waylaid by THRUSH.”

“…Maybe the ghost arranged it–I’d say _that_ was making your life miserable…”

“Very funny, Napoleon. But I will humor you–what sort of stories do they say about this place?”

“Ghost lights always show up after dark–”

“And how many have we seen? None.”

“Well maybe skeptics can’t see them,” Napoleon chided.

“And you can?”

“Well, I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean they’re not here, among us…” Napoleon paused for a dramatic effect. “Anyway, it’s not just lights–people see ‘reenactors’ that turn out to be actual soldiers, a woman at an inn who was the wife of one of the fallen soldiers, and the ghost train.”

“…What.”

“A ghost train: a train from the afterlife itself that travels here to pick up wandering spirits.”

Illya gave him a look.

“And you believe in all of this?”

Napoleon hesitated; they’d had a recent string of bizarre occurrences that had left them both confused about what exactly they did believe. He opted to dodge the question somewhat in his response.

“Well, I’m not about to go out of my way and do anything irrational because I want to avoid possibly running into a ghost or anything like that.”

“Good,” Illya said. He sighed, squinting as he looked around them for any signs of anyone else in the dim light of the waxing gibbous moon. “I hope we can resolve this mission quickly.”

“Yeah, I’d like to be back in New York for the U.N.C.L.E. Halloween party tomorrow evening,” Napoleon mused.

“…On second thoughts, maybe we’ll be lucky and miss it.”

“Aw, come on, Illya! Lighten up!”

“Not until you drop the idea of matching costumes for us again!”

Napoleon put on a look of mock affront.

“I thought that was our thing!” he protested. “We’ve been doing that for, what… the last six years? It’s even starting to catch on; I hear April is going to be Lady Dracula—with Mark as Van Helsing!”

“…Rather ominous, is it not, for one to play a vampire and have one’s partner as a vampire hunter?”

“It could be interesting—Mandy’s going as a female version of Renfield to toss a monkey wrench into Van Helsing’s plans. Oh, and George and the other techies are all going as Centurions. We’ve started a trend, Illya, and we should continue it.”

“And just what did you have in mind for us this year?”

“Well, I was thinking Jekyll and Hyde…”

“ _Forget it_.”

“You can be Jekyll!”

“…And _you_ are to be my monstrous alter-ego? _Da_ , upon reflection, I think I _would_ like that…”

“I thought you would; trust me, we’ll be the talk of the party tomorrow night,” Napoleon grinned. He then paused and checked his watch. “Actually, make that tonight—it just turned midnight. Ah, the two of us, wandering the remnants of a century-old battlefield, on the Witching Hour on Halloween--”

He was cut off as a violent gust of air, like something massive going past them, nearly knocked the both of them off of their feet; they just barely remained standing, holding onto each other for support–and they both stared at each other as they heard what sounded like an old-time steam train whistle. And then, all was still and silent as the graves around them.

“…Napoleon…?” Illya asked.

“That was… just a freak wind,” the American said.

“Of course.” How could it have been anything else? “Now let’s continue with the mission; we have to find the THRUSHie hiding out here…”

They tried to ignore the sound of a steam engine’s hiss, but the two of them couldn’t help but look back. A fog was beginning to surround them—despite the weather being clear. Napoleon pushed the thought aside of wondering whether or not the “fog” was, in fact, steam from the ghost train he had mentioned only minutes ago.

The duo soon noticed something else—that the grass beneath their feet was now crunching as they trod upon the layer of frost that had suddenly formed. Illya stopped in his tracks and aimed his flashlight ahead, letting out a quiet, baffled sound as the frost spread out ahead of them while the temperature suddenly plummeted.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how frost works,” Napoleon said.

“You would be correct,” Illya replied.

Napoleon nearly jumped out of his skin as a shrill scream echoed from behind them. A grunt in a THRUSH uniform was running through the new fog bank, a look of terror on his face. He either didn’t notice or care that he was heading for two U.N.C.L.E. agents. Napoleon attempted to get him to stop, but the grunt kept running, and Illya unceremoniously drew his Special and tranquilized the grunt.

“There, we are finished. We can take him back to New York and interrogate him.”

“And you aren’t the least bit curious as to what he was running from?”

“ _Nyet_. Not at all.”

Illya’s hasty reply masked his underlying concerns; he didn’t want to run into something else that he couldn’t explain—and they’d done a lot of that recently.

“Okay,” Napoleon conceded. “We should take a quick look to make sure that this grunt wasn’t accompanied. If there’s nothing, we’re leaving immediately.”

Illya took custody of the unconscious THRUSHie and followed Napoleon as they headed towards the mist, which blew around them like the steam from a train. Napoleon shook his head, pressing the thought aside.

“There isn’t anything here,” he declared. “Let’s go.”

“Da; I am looking forward to a big breakfast--”

Illya suddenly froze in midsentence, releasing the unconscious THRUSHie and letting him fall.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked, his eyes widening in concern. “ _Illya_!?”

He reached a hand out to his partner, but before he could touch him, the Russian suddenly jerked back out of his reach, as though someone had pulled him away. Illya still didn’t speak, but his eyes were wide open with a horrified look that Napoleon had never seen before.

And then, they appeared out of nowhere—five men materialized out of the mist, all clad in Confederate uniforms; four of them had grabbed ahold of each of Illya’s limbs, and the fifth had a hand over the Russian’s mouth.

It took Napoleon a split-second to recover from the shock, but he drew his Special a moment later.

“Let him go,” he ordered.

“You can’t give us any orders, Pretty-Boy!” the one covering Illya’s mouth taunted. “And that fancy weapon you got ain’t gonna do you any good, either!”

Napoleon fired a couple sleeping darts in retaliation, but he froze as the darts passed right through the soldiers. Illya let out a muffled shout as frost began to form on his clothes and skin where the soldiers were touching him.

“Gettin’ the picture, Pretty-Boy?” another sneered. “Ain’t nothin’ a live ‘un can do to stop us!”

“You… you can’t…”

“Can’t what?” the third drawled. “We can do whatever we want!”

“OK, look, whatever is going on here, the joke is over,” Napoleon retorted. “I’m Napoleon Solo of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, and that’s my partner, Illya Kuryakin. You let him go, or I promise you, there will be trouble.”

“…He don’t get it, do he?” the fourth said. “Look, Dandy, we’re taking this here feller for a ride.”

“It’s nothin’ personal,” the fifth said, glancing at Illya, who was struggling against their hold. “Well, actually, that’s a lie. It’s personal, but it’s nothin’ you’d be able to remember, so there’s no point in explaining it.”

“He may not remember,” a new voice said, sounding like an echo of Napoleon’s own voice. “But I do.”

Napoleon turned on the spot, staring at what looked like himself, dressed in 19th-century clothes.

“Well, lookee here!” the first soldier taunted. “It’s li’l Lionheart hisself!”

“A dandy in that life and a dandy in his next one,” the second soldier sneered, looking from Lionheart to Napoleon.

Napoleon snapped back to face him.

“You didn’t know, Pretty-Boy?” the soldier countered. “You didn’t know that you’re the reincarnation of this dandy?”

“Leave him out of this,” Lionheart said, his voice dangerously low; Napoleon recognized the tone of voice as the one he himself used whenever a THRUSH agent had gone too far. Lionheart now indicated Illya. “And leave him out of it, as well.”

“It’s me you want,” another voice said, and now the spirit resembling Illya, but without his Russian accent. “You appear to have a severe case of mistaken identity.”

“It ain’t a mistake,” sneered the soldier still holding on to Illya’s mouth. “You think we can’t tell the difference between mortals and spirits?”

“Kid wasn’t even a part of this!” Lionheart shot back. “Everything that happened was between us—before I ever went west and met him!”

“Oh, we _know_ that!” the lead solider scoffed. “And we also know that the best revenge on _you_ is taking it out on _him_!” He cuffed Illya on the back of the head; Illya groaned, flinching as his hair began to frost over from where the soldier touched him. The soldier laughed in response. “Take him, Boys!”

They retreated into the mist, dragging the struggling Illya with them; Napoleon swore and chased after them, dragging the unconscious THRUSHie with him ( _Darn protocols_ , he silently fumed), wishing he had listened to Illya and not gone near the fog to look around.

Lionheart and Kid were right beside him; Napoleon ignored them, trying not to think about how everything had gone from normal to unbelievable in a matter of minutes. But that didn’t really matter, either, he decided; what mattered was that he had to get his partner back.

He stopped in his tracks as the chase led to a large steam train that, like the soldiers, had appeared out of nowhere.

“So that’s their plan…” Lionheart fumed.

“What is?” Napoleon asked.

“They plan to keep him there until the train leaves at daybreak,” Kid said, quietly. “He’s a mortal; he won’t be able to cross to the other side since he’s alive.”

“…What will happen to him, then?” Napoleon asked.

“He’ll slip into limbo between the planes,” Lionheart said. “Neither alive nor dead.”

Napoleon exhaled.

“Not on my watch,” he said.

“If you’re thinking of boarding the train, the same fate will befall you if you don’t make it off before daybreak,” Lionheart said. “Leave this to Kid and me. We have a vested interest in keeping the both of you on the plane of the living.”

“I’m not even going to start wondering what that interest would be,” Napoleon said. “I have a vested interest in being there for my partner.”

He pushed past the duo and dragged the still-unconscious THRUSHie on board the train. He heard Lionheart sputter in protest, followed by a wry response from Kid—

“And now you see what I’ve had to deal with since 1869?”

Napoleon was soon out of earshot; spirits were milling all about him on the train, most of them ignoring him while a few took some interest, but otherwise saying nothing. He went from car to car, looking into the compartments of each one—earning him a slap from a rather primly-dressed female ghost on one occasion as her hand phased right through the compartment door to smack him.

“What is this plane coming to?” she sniffed, as Napoleon brushed off the crusting of frost that had formed on his cheek from her touch. “Mortals on the ghost train? You’re the second one I’ve seen who doesn’t belong here!”

Napoleon snapped to attention.

“Where is he?” he asked. “The other one you saw? I’m trying to get him off of his train, believe me!”

“Down at the end of this car—in the company of some nasty souls,” she said, waving Napoleon away. “Now, shoo!”

Napoleon shifted the THRUSHie over his shoulder and crept to the back of the car. Peeking through the glass of the compartment, he could see Illya, still fighting against the spirits restraining his arms and legs. He was also shivering violently from the crusting of frost all over him, but it didn’t stop him from cursing at his captors in Russian, English, and Ukrainian. The soldiers didn’t seem the least bit perturbed, and merely laughed at his threats.

Knowing that there was no physical damage he could do against Illya’s captors, Napoleon was determined to use the element of surprise to his advantage. He kicked the door open and threw the THRUSHie to the floor of the compartment.

The stunt did draw the soldiers’ attention, and Napoleon charged forward, grabbing Illya’s hand and trying to drag him out of the compartment…

“Oh, no you don’t, Pretty-Boy!”

Three of the soldiers grabbed ahold of Illya and pulled him back as the other two grabbed Napoleon and unceremoniously threw him out of the compartment.

“Napoleon!” Illya called, trying to reach out to him. “ _Napoleon_!”

Napoleon looked up in time to see the soldiers throwing the THRUSHie at him; Napoleon let out a pained grunt as the THRUSHie landed on him. As the compartment door closed, he saw Illya fruitlessly trying to use his judo skills on the soldiers; his hands went right through them, and they soon held him down by his arms and legs again.

Illya now looked through the glass door of the compartment at Napoleon with a heartbreaking shrug.

“Go, Napoleon!” he called through the door. “Just go!”

Napoleon shook his head and opened the door again.

“Look!” he said to the soldiers. “Take me instead, huh? You can still get your revenge on Lionheart that way!”

“Nah, this is better,” the ringleader of the five said. “I like seeing that pained look on your face, Pretty-Boy—knowing that it’s just like Lionheart’s. That’s what this moment is all about.” He turned to two of the other soldiers. “Get him off the train.”

“Don’t you touch him!” Illya snarled, trying to pull away.

The three remaining soldiers continued to hold the Russian back as the other two dragged Napoleon and the THRUSHie out of the compartment, with Illya’s calls to him ringing in his ears…

Napoleon tried to fight back, but, like Illya, his fists phased right through the spirits, who felt absolutely nothing. That didn’t stop him from fighting, even as he and the THRUSHie were tossed off the train.

A blow to his shoulders caused him to lose consciousness; the last thing he could hear was the cackling laughter from the two soldiers’ ghosts.

************************************

When he regained consciousness, the first thing Napoleon was aware of was a familiar pair of blue eyes looking down at him.

“Illya…?” he murmured.

“Sorry,” the accent-less version of Kid’s voice replied. “He’s still on the train. Hey, Lionheart! He’s awake!”

They were still by the train; Lionheart, who had apparently been inside, now leaned out of the train.

“Okay, we’ll go back to our plan,” Lionheart said. “Kid, you come through the compartment window and try to take Illya’s place when I distract them.”

“How? He can’t phase out through the window! He’s mortal!”

“So, break the window!” Lionheart said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve only got an hour until dawn; we have to move fast!”

“An hour!?” Napoleon asked. He looked at his watch. “How long was I out!?”

“With spirit activity as high as it is, it’s remarkable that you awakened at all before dawn,” Kid said, flatly. “Lionheart and I have been trying to get to Illya, but those soldiers have been expecting us.”

Napoleon noticed the bruises on Kid’s face; looking at Lionheart, he could see that his counterpart had battle damage, as well.

“I thought nothing could hurt a spirit; nothing I did to those soldiers affected them in any way.”

“Nothing a _mortal_ can do physically can affect spirits,” Kid said. “Spirits are more than capable of inflicting damage on other spirits. But you won’t be able to fight, so leave this to Lionheart and me.”

Lionheart nodded in agreement and retreated inside the train; Kid followed, leaving Napoleon with the still-tranquilized THRUSHie.

“An hour…” he murmured. Clearly, Lionheart and Kid had been trying without success for hours. How could one more hour make a difference?

He had to help. This was Illya on the line here—his loyal partner who would never abandon him. And Napoleon would never abandon him, either. He would not sit idly by and do nothing when his partner needed his help.

He picked the THRUSH grunt over his shoulder again and re-boarded the training, heading for the compartment. It was then that he narrowly avoided colliding with someone in a crisp, black pinstriped suit—he was not transparent like the spirits, meaning that he wasn’t one of them. Napoleon stared in confusion for a moment as the man regarded him with a great deal of interest.

“What brings you here, Mr. Solo?”

Napoleon didn’t stop to wonder how the man knew his name.

“I don’t really have time for this, Mr…”

“Zero.”

“Right, Zero. I have to get to my partner before the train leaves in an hour!”

“Is that all?” Zero asked. “You will find that I have quite a bit of power over the spirits on this train…” He trailed off as the prim lady ghost from earlier entered the car; she saw the man and gasped shrilly, and ran back the way she had come. “You see? I can free your partner easily, but there’s something I’d like in exchange.”

“What?” Napoleon asked, arching his eyebrow.

Zero silently indicated the THRUSH grunt slung over Napoleon’s shoulder.

“Him,” he said. “Surely a nameless enemy agent is a small price to pay for your partner’s freedom?”

Napoleon’s eyes narrowed.

“Why do you want him?”

“Oh, he’ll find his way to me anyway; why not sooner instead of later? It makes things easier.”

Napoleon glanced at the THRUSH agent—the entire reason they’d been out here in the first place. Technically, this whole thing was his fault. But as much as Napoleon wanted to make the deal, something in his gut told him not to.

“…That isn’t how I…” Napoleon trailed off. He didn’t owe Zero any explanations. “No.”

He pushed past Zero, who looked affronted.

“No!?” Zero scoffed. “You think you can get your partner off of this train within the hour without my intervention?”

“I can try,” Napoleon answered.

“And if you fail?” Zero queried. “You will concede to losing your partner forever?”

“No,” Napoleon said, after thinking it over. “I’ll stay on the train and end up in limbo with him.”

Zero scowled as Napoleon continued to the next car—the car where Illya was still being held. He could hear the sounds of a struggle coming from the compartment. A quick peek revealed that something had gone wrong; Kid and Lionheart were trying to hold their own against the five while Illya, shaking and shivering from the layer of frost on him, was struggling to break the window and escape while his captors still tried to hold him back. But the most concerning thing was that Illya wasn’t trying to fight back.

Napoleon made his move; he used the knocked-out THRUSHie as a battering ram, throwing him through the window and then pulling Illya into his arms as two of the soldiers tried to pull Illya back; the other three were occupied by the brawl as Kid took on one in hand to hand combat while Lionheart wrestled with another in a headlock while pinning down a third with his knee.

But, still, Napoleon was facing them two to one, and Illya was, at this point, little more than a dead weight.

“Illya!” he whispered, urgently. “Illya, you have to fight back like you did before! You have to pull away!”

“I cannot…” Illya murmured, the fight all gone from him; it was suddenly obvious to Napoleon that Illya must have been fighting desperately to escape during the time Napoleon had been unconscious and Illya’s adrenaline had burned out. “Napoleon, I am too tired… Too cold… Too weakened…”

“No. No, you’re not!” Napoleon chided. “Illya, do you know what’ll happen to you if you don’t leave this train before daybreak!?”

“I know…” he mumbled. “They told me…”

He still made no effort to fight back, and the two soldiers were desperately trying to wrench him from Napoleon’s hold. Napoleon gritted his teeth.

“Well then, you and I are going to have a long talk once we’re both stuck in limbo, because I’m not leaving without you, you crazy Russian!”

Illya’s eyes snapped open, and Napoleon knew that he had said the magic words—if there was anything that would get Illya fighting again, that was it. The Russian now resumed fighting back, and Napoleon added to his strength until they had pulled away from the grips of the two ghost soldiers.

“Get out!” Lionheart ordered them, as the soldiers attempted to go after them again. “Go!”

Napoleon, still holding on to Illya, now pulled him through the broken window; they landed beside the unconscious THRUSH grunt; with a sigh, Napoleon kept one arm around Illya and unceremoniously dragged the grunt as they retreated from the train.

The two ghost soldiers were right behind them, and soon, the other three joined them; Napoleon knew that he wasn’t going to be able to outrun them.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed the Russian.

He let the THRUSH grunt lie on the ground, pulling Illya down in a protective embrace while keeping a knee on the THRUSHie’s back as Lionheart had done moments ago to the solider he had pinned.

“Give it up, Pretty-Boy!” the ringleader of the soldiers sneered. “We told you before; there ain’t nothing you can do to us, but we can make things unpleasant for you.”

He phased his hand through Napoleon’s shoulder, causing him to cringe; not only was it unbearably cold, but there was a tangible malice—one that had felt alarmingly like the malice that had infected him when, on a previous affair, a shadowy creature living in a mirror had possessed him…

 _Let him go, Pretty-Boy_ , the soldier’s voice echoed in his head.

Napoleon shuddered, but tightened his grip around Illya.

The other soldiers now followed the ringleader’s example, phasing their hands through him and trying to convince him to let go. Napoleon let out a shuddering gasp; he could feel the frost and malice tingling within him. He knew that if he continued to resist, one or more of them would attempt to possess him; he could see in in their eyes, and Illya could sense it, as well.

“Napoleon, let me go,” the Russian hissed.

“No…”

“Napoleon, please! I do not think I shall be able to stand seeing you being controlled by another entity _again_ —let me go of your own accord!”

“I’m not letting them take you!” Napoleon retorted.

There were gunshots now; Lionheart and Kid were trying to draw the soldiers away from them; again, only three of them fought back, while the other two focused on Napoleon.

“How long do you think you can hold out, Pretty-Boy?” the ringleader asked.

“You know, I get question that from THRUSH all the time.”

“THRUSH can’t possess you, though,” the soldier sneered.

Napoleon clung to Illya, bracing himself for the spirit’s takeover of his body. He would fight it, though—fight as he had fought against the mirror creature. He would fight for Illya, he reminded himself. For Illya. Always for Illya…

“Illya,” he said. “Whatever happens, just know that--”

His words were cut off by the train whistle. The soldiers cursed, abandoning them and running for the train, but the man in the pinstripe suit who had been on the train now materialized in front of them.

“Too late,” Zero taunted. “Too late… Your ride is with me now!”

He snapped his fingers, and the five soldiers vanished in a swirl of mist, screaming. Zero unceremoniously looked to Lionheart and Kid, who backed away from him but still glared defiantly at him.

“We weren’t going anywhere,” Lionheart insisted.

“Well, you can’t, can you?” Zero taunted. “Do speak to me in the future, should you be desperate for release.”

“Not a chance,” Kid spat back.

Zero shrugged and now took a few steps towards Napoleon and Illya.

“Don’t even think about it!” Lionheart snarled.

Zero ignored him and addressed Napoleon.

“So, you got your way in the end, didn’t you? And you didn’t even need my assistance. Pity.”

Napoleon’s gut continued to express doubts that Zero was as benevolent as he was making himself out to be.

“What did you do to them?” he asked. “The five soldiers?”

“Does it really matter?” Illya muttered.

Zero ignored the question anyway, and now turned his attention to Illya.

“Mr. Kuryakin…” he mused. “You pass yourself off as mysterious and unique, and yet, in truth, there is nothing out of the ordinary about you.”

“…Is that meant to insult me?” Illya deadpanned.

“But you, Mr. Solo…” Zero continued. “You are unique. You’ve retained the sense of righteousness that your former self had…” He glanced pointedly at Lionheart before turning back to Napoleon. “But there’s more to you than that. It’s intriguing, Mr. Solo. You’ve garnered my interest.”

With that, without even waiting for a reply, Zero snapped his fingers and also vanished in a swirl of mist.

“Who was that?” Illya asked.

“I have no idea,” Napoleon said, shaking his head. “He was on the train—said he’d help me free you if I handed our THRUSH prisoner over to him.”

“Oh, he must be with THRUSH—or some rival organization,” Illya said, waving a hand in dismissal.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Napoleon said.

“I know,” Illya admitted, with a sigh. “I am just desperate for something normal now… Can we please just say that we both hallucinated the entire night?”

“If so, we’re not done hallucinating yet,” Napoleon said, as Lionheart and Kid walked over to them.

Illya groaned.

“I am a man of logic and rational thought,” he protested.

“Then you would know not to deny what’s in front of your eyes,” Kid said.

Illya grunted in response, and Napoleon now addressed the two spirits.

“I have a lot of questions,” he said.

“I suspected you would,” Lionheart said. “So did we, the night we met you in Moonlit Gulch—you were two strangely-dressed people who looked exactly like us. We didn’t know what to make of you.”

“You weren’t ghosts then; you were pretty solid,” Napoleon pointed out.

“We were all alive,” Kid said. “Karen, Clem, Old Man Winstrate… Don’t know how it worked; he’d know about it more than I would.” Kid indicated Illya.

“Some sort of anomaly with the space-time continuum?” Illya asked. “That was the explanation I came up with to satisfy myself; there is much about space-time that we don’t know, and I was willing to accept that.”

“You have other questions, I assume?” Lionheart asked.

Illya shook his head, opting not to say anything; Napoleon squeezed his shoulder.

“I do. For starters, what did you do to make those soldiers so furious with you?”

“Similar reasons for why THRUSH is so furious with you,” Lionheart said. “The desire to help suffering innocents is something we both share. I ran away from home as a teen—worked with the Underground Railroad just before and during the war. Those soldiers didn’t approve of my actions—they let me know in no uncertain terms when they were alive. I’d heard they had all died here at Gettysburg, and I put the whole matter behind me and headed west after the war ended.”

“Lionheart, the sun has almost fully risen; we can’t stay,” Kid said.

“Where are you going to go?” Napoleon asked. “You said you couldn’t… leave?”

“We can’t cross over, no,” Lionheart said. “We’ll find a dark and quiet place to stay until nightfall.”

“Why can’t you cross over?” Napoleon asked.

“We don’t know,” Kid said. “That’s what’s so puzzling; the curse that was cast upon us which stopped us from being able to cross should have been broken when the two of you met.”

“…Curse?” Napoleon and even Illya repeated.

“It’s a long story—far too long to explain; we don’t have the time,” Lionheart said. “But as Kid said, the curse should have broken. Perhaps there is still some unfinished business we have to do.”

“Maybe there’s a clue in my diary,” Kid said. “I left it just outside of what was a fledgling city at the time—Las Vegas.”

“…Fledgling, he says…” Illya deadpanned.

“At the time, I said,” Kid countered, in the same tone. He then looked somber. “Lionheart had just passed… and I had no desire to stay out west without him. I left everything behind and went east.”

Lionheart now placed a hand on Kid’s shoulder.

“Kid found me again after he passed,” he said. “And we’ve been wandering around ever since. It’s not a terrible existence, since we’re together, but we’d like to move on to a better place.”

“…I’ll do my best to help,” Napoleon said.

Illya said nothing, but did give a quiet nod of assent.

“Thank you,” Kid said. “And now we must go.”

“Look after each other,” Lionheart added.

“We will,” Illya said, at last—one of the few things he was certain about.

Lionheart and Kid walked off together in the thinning mist; they had soon disappeared, and as the sun rose from the horizon, the mist began to dissipate completely.

Napoleon sighed.

“There was one other thing I forgot to ask—they seemed to know who that Zero was.”

“Who?”

“The guy who said that he found me interesting,” Napoleon said. He paused. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I guess. Come on, let’s get this THRUSHie to the car.”

“Where is the car?” Illya asked. “We parked it on one of the roads, but we wandered a lot last night… Where exactly are we?”

“There’s a sign over here,” Napoleon said, walking over to it. He froze as he read it—

DEVIL’S DEN

Something in his mind went back to how Zero had made those ghost soldiers vanish—and how all the other spirits seemed to fear him.

Napoleon shook his head; that was a bit too much to think about now, even for him. 

“I can see our way now, Napoleon! I guess we were walking about in circles during the night…” Illya trailed off. “Napoleon?”

“Huh? Oh.”

“Are you alright, Napoleon?”

“Fine, just fine… Hey, I think our prisoner is finally coming to,” he said, as the THRUSHie groaned and awakened at last. He protested and fought for a bit, but soon went quietly, and Napoleon turned his attention back to his partner as he herded the grunt forward. “Are _you_ alright, Illya? You went through a lot.”

“ _Da_ , I shall be fine…” Illya said.

“…I guess you want to just forget about what happened, huh? Or hope there’s some sort of an explanation for it?”

Illya grunted in reply.

“I am curious about Kid’s diary, though—and the supposed curse. But if you want to forget about the whole thing, then I won’t bring it up again,” Napoleon promised.

Illya looked at him.

“And I know you mean that,” he said. “However… Perhaps I wouldn’t be completely honest if I said that I wasn’t interested in that alleged diary. …A morbid curiosity, of course.”

“Of course,” Napoleon said. “So what exactly are you saying?”

“I am saying that… On the occasion that we have another mission in Las Vegas, I would not be adverse to the idea of searching for the diary during our downtime.”

Napoleon managed a weary smile at his partner.

“Okay, then it’s settled; we’ll do a little digging next time we’re out there,” he said. “And no matter what we find, nothing changes between us, right?”

“Right,” Illya said, without hesitation.

Their relationship was something that neither of them had any doubts over.


End file.
